Truth
by Syrinx
Summary: She hated the sand and the heat, hated that it had presented obstacles she couldn’t clear, and hated that she was, without a doubt, going to be forbidden the chance to try again. Cindy, slight Ashleigh/Brad. during Arabian Challenge.


Truth

By Syrinx

Disclaimer: All rights to the Thoroughbred series belong to Joanna Campbell and Harper Collins.

A/N: After reading Arabian Challenge again, I was asked if I was going to rewrite the ending. Again. Well, why not? And why wouldn't I throw in a lot of are they, aren't they Brad/Ashleigh? I mean, why wouldn't I do that? Oneshot.

Cindy sat in the gravel with her back to the wall and her knees pressed against her chest. Her throat was tight, a condition she could not remedy no matter how much of the dry air she sucked into her lungs. Instead it felt like she was hyperventilating, and her eyes watered, tears streaming down her dusty cheeks as she silently cursed the desert. She hated the sand and the heat, hated that it had presented obstacles she couldn't clear, and hated that she was, without a doubt, going to be forbidden the chance to try again.

Her throat was closing, and she coughed into her hands, stifling the noise that no one would hear. No one was listening for her. If she was quiet enough, Cindy imagined she could fade right into the stable wall. All that surrounded her was raised voices, and they rang tunelessly in her ears.

"How the fuck you convinced me to give that kid I chance, I don't know," a voice, Brad's, drifted down the stable aisle. Cindy squeezed her eyes shut, wincing at the dangerous malice in his words.

"You gave her a chance because she's been riding that horse since we put him to saddle," Ashleigh argued. "She has experience with him, and I know he would have performed for her."

_Would have,_ Cindy thought. Champion would have performed, she was sure. She allowed herself to turn toward Ashleigh's voice, scooting closer to the open stable door in hopes of catching the next words.

"He would have performed for you, too," Brad reminded Ashleigh, his voice no more than a snarl, twisted by his anger. "Instead you have to enter a horse with a slim shot in hell of hitting the board, and you've got to jockey him on top of that. Where does that leave the potential favorite? You've left him in the hands of a barely sixteen-year-old brat more liable to fall into a snit than focus on getting her mount around the track in one piece."

There was a pregnant pause, as if Ashleigh was gauging her words carefully. "Cindy is passionate about her success."

"No shit," Brad said after a mirthless laugh. "Enough to put her mount in danger of her own inexperience because she's afraid you're not doing your job properly. Just what practices are you preaching at Whitebrook these days?"

"That's not fair," Ashleigh replied. "Cindy's actions in no way resemble Whitebrook policy. She acted…rashly."

"Ashleigh, when I get a phone call at two in the morning from you because your jockey, who you hand picked, nearly killed herself and nearly ruined our horse and his chance at a six million dollar purse, I think I have every right to question how the hell you allowed this to happen."

"I didn't allow it," Ashleigh spat. "Cindy has been impossible to control for weeks, if not months. Giving her the ride here…I thought giving her this would settle her. She was devastated after losing her debut. I can only assume that we built her up too much, let her believe we expected too much."

"Ash, that's bullshit," Brad said, his voice dropping.

Cindy dropped her head against her knees, feeling a flush spread like wildfire across her cheeks. Of course, Ashleigh was not going to defend her actions. She curled even tighter, clamping her hands around her ankles and digging her short nails into her skin. What had she really expected? She couldn't even come up with a logical defense other than she was so sure, so positive in her belief that she was _right_ in her actions. She knew her horse, didn't she? Ashleigh had said she did, after all. She knew, and she had been in the right, no matter how horribly she'd messed it all up.

Brad and Ashleigh were talking in voices too low for Cindy to hear. She strained to pick up threads of the conversation, pressed herself as close as she could to the edge of the doorway without being seen. She still could not hear, and she had to know what Ashleigh was saying. Feeling a stab of strength, she released her ankles and pushed her palms into the sharp gravel, easing herself just close enough, just into the doorway, to peek into the aisle without being seen.

"If you don't take her off as his jockey, I will," Brad said. He stood in front of Limitless's stall, the big bay hanging his head over the stall door in an endearing attempt to get attention from the pair of people too absorbed in each other to notice him. Ashleigh stood within arm's length from Brad, her head bowed as she stared at the floor in concentration.

"I've already decided to take her off," Ashleigh said quietly, so softly Cindy could barely hear. Brad looked at her for a moment, and sighed, raking his fingers through his dark hair.

"Look," he said, hesitating just barely before inching toward Ashleigh, looking down at her as he spoke. "I haven't gotten involved in the training, in Whitebrook, or you because you requested it. I won't make the decisions for you, but I have to be involved in deciding who we put on the colt."

Ashleigh sighed, wiped at something on her cheek before exhaling and leaning forward. "I'll ride him."

Brad looked genuinely surprised. "You're sure?"

"I am," Ashleigh nodded. "I'll scratch Limitless. You're right, to a certain extent. Taking him here…it was wishful thinking, and he was lucky to enter in a sparse field this year. I'll ride Champion. He'll win."

A smile curled on the corner of Brad's lips. "You're so sure?"

"Yes," Ashleigh said, looking up at him.

"Well, I have to admire a woman who talks like that," he laughed. Ashleigh swallowed and shook her head. His smiled died, a neutral expression slipping over his face. "You'll need a jockey."

"I just said I was scratching Limitless," Ashleigh reminded him.

"I heard you," Brad said. "Jorge is riding Adelaide in the Duty Free, but he doesn't have a mount in the World Cup. I'll have his agent contact you as soon as I get him on the phone."

Ashleigh considered him for a long moment. Then she nodded. "Thank you," she said, reaching forward and gripping his wrist. Her thumb strayed across his palm briefly, and she dropped her hand a moment after he dropped his gaze to where she touched him.

"What's a favor between us, Griffen?" he asked, the smirk back on his mouth.

"I really wouldn't know," Ashleigh said, smiling as she wrapped her arms across her chest. He grinned then, and stepped by her, pausing to squeeze her shoulder before walking toward the other end of the barn, leaving Ashleigh to finally reach one trembling hand to the ever-inquisitive Limitless. Cindy watched, fascinated, as Ashleigh drifted into the bay colt, pressing her forehead against the animal's neck.

"Cindy," a voice hissed at her, making her jump and scramble as fast as she could away from the door. She turned around, suddenly face to face with Mark.

"What are you doing?" Cindy whispered angrily, leaping to her feet and brushing her hands against her jeans.

"I could ask you the same thing," Mark pointed out. "Your father is looking for you."

Cindy nodded solemnly. "I'm grounded," she said, "for the foreseeable future. No thanks to you."

"I think it's more thanks to your inability to see reason," Mark said. "I'm not taking blame for you right now, Cindy."

"That's not…" she started to say, realizing that she was wrong. It was a completely fair statement, and Mark, by the way he glared at her, as if daring her to challenge him, knew that.

"I'm sorry, you know," she said suddenly, blurting it out and tasting the way the words sounded on her tongue. They were foreign, like the French she never really learned. Mark blinked at her, but his face remained unchanged.

"Yeah," he said after a second of considering her. "So am I."

Cindy offered him a brief smile, one he didn't return. Her throat was constricting again, tight and dry in the desert she didn't think she could stand another minute of. Mark gave her an impatient look and motioned for her to follow him. "Come on, Cindy."

She looked over her shoulder at the stable, wondering when she was going to get the news. She'd come to Dubai to be a spectator. The thought ate at her stomach, settling like lead in her gut. The decision had been made, and Mark – ever patient Mark – was giving her a look that couldn't be mistaken as anything other than insistent.

Cindy turned back to him and breathed in the hot air. "Okay," she said. "Lead the way."


End file.
